


In All That I Do

by a_classic_fool



Category: Do No Harm (TV)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 07:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12383862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_classic_fool/pseuds/a_classic_fool
Summary: Ficlets and oneshots with no other home! Chapter summaries at the beginning of each chapter.





	1. A Little Bit of Cinnamon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruben, Vanessa, Usnavi, and a festive autumnal coffee beverage.

“Cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves,” says the beleaguered barista, her hair falling out of her ponytail. She looks like she needs the espresso more than they do.

“So it has cinnamon in it,” says Vanessa.

“Um. Yes?”

“Can you _taste_ the cinnamon?”

“I….it’s a pumpkin spice latte. I don’t — I’m sorry. I’m new.”

“Don’t harass her,” hisses Ruben, out of the corner of his mouth. He’s standing just behind Vanessa and he’s staring intently at the floor, as though determined not to be caught up in Vanessa’s cinnamon feud.

“I…oh, fine. I’ll take one.”

“What size?” asks the barista, her face going slack with poorly disguised relief.

“Small.”

“Tall?”

Ruben elbows Vanessa in the ribs and nods at the barista from over Vanessa’s shoulder before Vanessa can say anything.

They’re on their way back from a weekend in upstate New York and the only coffeeshop for miles is a Starbucks by the side of the highway. It’s surrounded on all sides by several gas stations, a Subway, and a twenty-four-hour waffle house, which Usnavi had suggested as an alternative to the Starbucks before he’d been outvoted. _I’m the one driving_ , a thoroughly under-caffeinated Ruben had said. _I don’t wanna sit on the weird plastic they put in the booths and get my elbows stuck in someone else’s maple syrup._

And, well. It’s Usnavi’s fault they’re all so tired anyway. Ruben and Vanessa would have been perfectly happy to go to bed a little early the night before, but Usnavi and his dick had been insistent and neither of them had been particularly motivated to resist the temptation.

Vanessa finds them a table by the window and flops into the only armchair. Ruben nearly trips on her feet as he goes to sit down in a wooden chair next to her.

“I can’t _believe_ how festive it is in this place,” she grouses, tossing her hair over her shoulder and glaring at her surroundings.

“It’s pretty awful,” Ruben agrees.

“Pumpkin cheesecake. Pumpkin coffee. Pumpkin popcorn. Pumpkin chips. Pumpkin decorations. No one likes pumpkin any other time of year! Why do we have to go through this every September?”

Ruben shrugs. “Dunno,” he says, and nods towards her coffee. “How is it?”

Vanessa, who’s clutching the latte like she’s hoping the simple act of holding it will wake her up, sniffs at the hole in the lid of the cup. Cautiously, she blows on the drink and takes the tiniest of sips.

“It’s orange,” she says finally.

“No it isn’t,” says Ruben, automatically. “Coffee cannot be orange.”

Wordlessly, Vanessa hands him the cup, where several drops of orange liquid have gathered on the lid. “It’s _orange_ ,” she says, her face still and thunderous in a way that suggests she required proper coffee about an hour and a half ago.

“Oh God,” says Ruben. He’s eyeing his own coffee warily, as though unsure in what way it will betray him.

“Try it.”

“No! You just told me it was orange.”

“ _Ruben._ ”

“Fine.” Ruben squeezes his eyes shut, takes the lid off the cup, and sticks his tongue into the latte like a cat. He immediately scrunches his whole face up in a look of mournful horror.

“See?” Vanessa asks. “It’s _awful._ It’s like pumpkin pie and plastic had an awful liquid child.”

Ruben puts the cup on the table between them and looks at the empty third chair.

“Where’s Usnavi?” he asks, scraping his tongue against his teeth to get the taste of pumpkin spice latte off of it.

Vanessa glances around. “Oh no,” she says, pointing at something over Ruben’s shoulder. “Not _again_.”

Ruben turns around to see Usnavi standing by the counter where they picked up their drinks. Usnavi, who was behind Ruben and Vanessa in line and didn’t hear Vanessa’s pumpkin spice conversation, is attempting to talk to one of the baristas about proper roasting methods.

“This just doesn’t taste right,” he says, loudly enough that Ruben flinches a little.

The barista working the espresso machine, who has a strange zig-zag pattern shaved into the back of his head and a gauge in one ear, rolls his eyes and wipes the wand of the milk steamer lazily with the rag in his right hand. The barista who took their orders seems to have disappeared into the back of the shop.

“Do you want me to remake it?” he asks, in a bored tone of voice.

“Nah, man, these beans are definitely burned. The whole batch, probably.” Usnavi looks over his shoulder and beckons to Ruben, practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “Back me up! It’s bitter.”

Ruben takes a sip of his own coffee and swirls it around in his mouth. Staring at the cup, he hesitates, drinks another mouthful, and then gets up to join Usnavi, ignoring Vanessa’s snort behind him.  

“So much for not harassing the staff!” she calls after him, but she settles back into her chair to watch the show.

“Do you know what temperature these beans were roasted at?” Ruben asks the barista, in the same earnest tone of voice he uses when he’s considering a tricky equation. “Over-roasting can significantly impact flavor, and these definitely taste burned.”

“It’s _coffee_ ,” says the barista, whose nametag reads _Chad_. “It’s _supposed_ to be bitter.”

“Well, I’d really recommend about 205 degrees — ” begins Ruben, but Usnavi’s too worked up for reasonable discussion.

“That’s just — that’s not true!” says Usnavi. “Coffee can be so many different flavors! If all you taste is _bitter_ , you just don’t _get coffee_!”

“Okay,” says Ruben, putting a hand on Usnavi’s waist. “Maybe — ”

“It’s just — it’s disrespectful to the _beans_! You gotta understand coffee! You gotta respect it!”

Vanessa’s covering her mouth with her hand, but it’s not doing much to disguise her laughter. “You tell him, babe!” she says.

“It’s big chains like this that are taking over all the good little places, where they actually _care_ about the _craft_ ,” Usnavi goes on, ignoring Vanessa.

“I think what we mean,” says Ruben, looking as though he can’t decide if he should be mortified or amused, “is that there’s more you could do to make sure everything tastes as good as possible.”

The barista puts the rag down.

“Out,” he says. “I’m not kidding. Get _out_ , all of you.”

“Come on, man,” says Usnavi, but the barista steps from behind the counter and starts batting at Usnavi’s heels with a broom. Usnavi yelps and hops backwards towards the door, crashing into Ruben as he does so. Ruben staggers sideways and clutches the counter for support.

Vanessa’s eyes have gone wide and her mouth is hanging open in delight. She gathers up her purse and moves towards the exit, holding the door open for Usnavi and Ruben. They tumble through it in a tangle of limbs and she follows them out, shrugging at the barista as she goes.

“You got kicked out of a Starbucks,” she tells Ruben and Usnavi, when they get to the parking lot. “That is a thing that just happened. Oh my _god_.” She wipes her eyes, which are streaming from laughter, and sighs. “That was _exactly_ what I needed. That was _beautiful._ I will cherish that memory forever. I don’t even care about my orange coffee anymore.”

Usnavi splutters at the mention of orange coffee and Ruben scuffs the bottom of his shoe against the asphalt, looking mildly embarrassed but also somewhat pleased with himself. “Glad it was fun for someone,” he says, his mouth twisting to suppress a smile.

“ _Orange_?” says Usnavi, taking a breath as if to launch back into a rant.

“I know, babe,” says Vanessa, still grinning. “Want me to drive?”

Ruben makes a noncommittal hand gesture and Usnavi makes a pouting face that means _yes_ , so Vanessa climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Usnavi is making us all coffee when we get home,” says Ruben.

“Damn straight,” says Usnavi, from the backseat.

Vanessa revs the engine unnecessarily, just for the fun of it, and they pull back onto the freeway. She rolls her window down and lets her right arm hang out of it, catching the wind in the palm of her hand. Usnavi and Ruben fall asleep in record time and she speeds all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Tumblr at [a-classic-fool](https://a-classic-fool.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Packing a Stretch Limousine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanessa, Ruben, Usnavi, and some plot-free post-clubbing sex.

“I cannot _believe_ ,” says a tipsy Ruben, leaning against the wall with his eyes shut, “you got us kicked out of that bar.” He pauses and adds, “Is the room spinning for anyone else?”

Vanessa unlocks her front door and ushers Ruben and Usnavi inside, switching on the lamp in the entryway as she follows them. “Just you, babe. I sober up fast.”

She’s exaggerating, she knows, just how fast she sobers up — the world is still bright and vivid and time seems to slow down and speed up without reason. Her mouth still tastes like tequila and rum and whatever else goes into a Long Island iced tea. But her body feels warm and her joints feel loose and as Ruben and Usnavi slide past her, she watches their muscles flexing under their shirts, the dim lamplight illuminating their faces, and desire curls low and hot in the pit of her stomach.

“Speak for yourself,” says Usnavi, kicking off his shoes as he walks, performing a complicated hopping motion to avoid tripping over them once he’s got them off, and collapsing into a kitchen chair. “The room is definitely spinning.”

Ruben goes to the kitchen sink and turns on the water, tipping his head sideways so he can drink directly from faucet. When he turns back around, he’s grinning happily with water running down his chin.

“But you know what,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m gonna treasure that memory forever.”

Usnavi slumps in his chair and wrinkles his nose in mock annoyance. “I didn’t _do_ anything,” he says.

Vanessa ducks into the bedroom to grab sweatpants for Ruben, who’s already started undoing his belt buckle in the middle of the kitchen. Vanessa knows from multiple instances of walking in on Ruben stripping that he hates wearing pants with zippers for more than five minutes at a time when he’s home.

“You definitely did,” she says, tossing the sweatpants in Ruben’s direction. Ruben reaches out to catch them a good second too late and laughs helplessly when they land somewhat splayed across his chest, one leg draped over his shoulder.

“It’s not a _crime_ to break a bar stool,” says Usnavi.

“It is, I think,” Ruben chimes in helpfully, still standing with the sweatpants in one hand and his belt in the other, as though he isn’t sure what to do with either of them.

“Well then, you helped,” Usnavi grouses.

“Your lap was inviting! How was I supposed to know that stool was so fragile?”

“It was a _dive bar_ ,” says Vanessa, steering Ruben towards the couch. He continues to get undressed as he walks, stumbling slightly and falling back against her chest. She wraps her arms around his waist and kisses his neck. “Their burgers had American cheese slices.”

Usnavi laughs as Vanessa wrestles Ruben onto the couch and collapses onto his lap, straddling his hips with her thighs. Her legs are sore from dancing and her feet are sore from heels and the light catches on Ruben’s cheekbones in a way that her tipsy brain finds impossibly mesmerizing. She can feel the desire to fuck or be fucked rising steadily and she leans forward to press kisses along the underside of Ruben’s jaw, her tangled hair falling over her shoulder and sticking to the skin of Ruben’s neck.

“Well,” says Usnavi. “I’m not the one who got us kicked out of the club. And if we hadn’t gotten kicked out of the club, we wouldn’t have gone to the bar, and then I wouldn’t have broken the stool.” He pauses for a long moment. “Where is the stool?” he asks finally.

“It’s in the alley,” says Vanessa, ignoring the rest of Usnavi’s comment. “Because you are not bringing it into my apartment.”

“Did you get a video of him carrying it?” asks Ruben, spreading his fingers out over Vanessa’s hips and pulling her tighter against him. He opens his mouth to say something else but apparently gets distracted by staring at her cleavage.

“I don’t think we really focused enough on how Vanessa got us kicked out of a club,” Usnavi says, loudly.

When Vanessa stops kissing his jaw, Ruben gives her solemn, wide-eyed look. “Yes, Vanessa, the chemist in me is very disappointed that you didn’t know you can’t set beer on fire.”

“They didn’t have 151! And I wanted a flaming shot!”

“You didn’t have to yell _Set it all on fire_ that loudly though,” Ruben says wisely. He holds Vanessa’s gaze in mock reproach for a few seconds before he loses it and starts laughing again.

“I think I did,” says Vanessa, giving Ruben a wicked smile before she grinds her hips down against his. “I had to keep everyone on their toes. Keep ‘em guessing.” The feel of Ruben’s hips pressing on her clit feels incredible, even though they’re both fully dressed, and she just wants to sink into it, to press herself against him and stay that way.

“You _scared them_!” says Usnavi, still flopped in the kitchen chair. “Definitely your fault. Not mine.”

Vanessa glares at him without conviction before biting back a smile and pressing her lips to Ruben’s forehead. “What do you think, Ruben? Should we let him get away with that?”

Ruben shakes his head, rocking his hips up into her, and she climbs off him just as he finds a rhythm. He whimpers a little but curls up into the corner of the couch like a cat anyway, reaching for the sweatpants next to him. She knows that he knows what’s coming.

Vanessa makes her way over to Usnavi and stands behind him, hips flush with the chair’s slatted back. She runs her hands slowly over Usnavi’s shoulders, letting her nails trail across the top of his back, before sliding them under the collar of his shirt and down his chest. When she gets to his nipples, she tugs at them gently, rolling them between her fingers until they start to harden and swell under her touch. Usnavi’s always liked having his nipples played with and Vanessa loves doing it — it takes so little to make him feel good, to make him needy and vocal and it’s dizzying, how beautiful she finds him like this.

Usnavi’s getting visibly hard and he shifts and rocks his hips, straining against the fly of his jeans as it presses down on his cock. His back arches and he grips his thighs, driving down with the heels of his hands until it looks to Vanessa as though it must hurt.

“Good?” she whispers.

Usnavi nods frantically, moving his hands to grip the sides of the chair and chattering to himself in Spanish. She doesn’t stop teasing his nipples and she takes a deep, full-body breath as he moans, watching his knuckles go white from clenching and feeling a shiver of hunger run down her spine.

Ruben, from where he’s settled himself on the couch, looks up, interest piqued. He palms his cock through his sweatpants, his face twisting into something open and needy, and his breath hitches audibly. Usnavi opens his eyes to stare at him, pupils blown.

Vanessa bends a little at the waist so her hands can find their way down from Usnavi’s chest to his stomach. She feels the softness of his belly, the angles of his ribs as they wrap around the sides of his body, the fine soft hair that stands on end as though he’s cold, and slides her fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers, brushing them softly against the base of his cock. He makes a low, frustrated sound in his throat and she stops, kissing the back of his neck as she straightens and looks at Ruben, still quiet on the sofa.

“Do you want to play too, Ruben? You can just watch if you want.”

Ruben slides wordlessly off the couch and pads across the room to kneel between Usnavi’s spread legs, one hand resting on each of Usnavi’s thighs. His lips are wet and parted and it makes the bottom of Vanessa’s stomach drop, the intensity of how badly she wants him. How badly she wants both of them.

Ruben runs his hands upwards towards Usnavi’s hips, tracing the seams along the insides of Usnavi’s thighs, and Usnavi’s head falls back, the top of his head resting against Vanessa’s stomach behind him.

“Please,” he chokes out, his breath coming in short gasps and his throat rippling as he swallows. “Please touch me. I want you to touch me so bad.”

Ruben looks up at Vanessa. She meets his eyes and nods, feeling lightheaded and trying to memorize every detail of Ruben on his knees like this, and then he’s reaching up and undoing the buttons of Usnavi’s fly, tugging at the waistband of Usnavi’s jeans until Usnavi lifts his hips up off the chair to give Ruben room to pull the jeans all the way off.

Once Usnavi’s down to just his boxers, Ruben leans forward slightly and presses his lips to the inside of Usnavi’s thigh, kissing his way up towards Usnavi’s cock until he can wrap his mouth very lightly over the still-clothed head and lick along the underside, gentle and quick. Usnavi cries out and tangles his hands in Ruben’s hair, taking fistfuls of it and just barely stopping himself from pulling.

Vanessa leans forward again and begins undoing the buttons on Usnavi’s shirt, starting at his collarbones and working her way down to his waist. When she gets it loose, she taps on his shoulder.

“Lean forward, baby,” she says. He whimpers a little when she says it and electricity crackles down the length of her body. She never calls him baby except during sex — it’s always _querido_ or _hermoso_ or babe — and just the feel of the word in her mouth makes her lightheaded. Her own hips thrust forward a little and _God_ , she wants someone to touch her, although not more than she wants to keep watching Ruben on his knees.

She pushes Usnavi’s shirt down over his shoulders and lets him take it the rest of the way off, lets him drop it on the floor beside them. He raises his arms over his head when she reaches down for the hem of his undershirt and in one quick motion, his chest is bare and beautiful and she wants to press her lips to every inch of him, run her hands over his waist and back and taste the warmth of him. Instead, she looks at Ruben again.

“You good?” she asks.

When he nods, she leans over and tugs at Usnavi’s boxers.

“These too,” she tells him. He shoves them gracelessly over his hips and down around his ankles, kicking them off with an uncoordinated wiggle of his foot.

When Usnavi’s fully naked, Ruben rises on his knees just enough to get a good grip on Usnavi’s hips. He wraps his mouth around Usnavi’s cock and Usnavi lets out an unholy sound that makes Vanessa’s knees weak. She bites her own lip, her mouth going dry as she watches Ruben take Usnavi deeper, watches Ruben dig his fingers into the skin over Usnavi’s hipbones.

“Do you like that?” she whispers. She lowers her head and kisses the skin behind Usnavi’s ear, the line of his neck as he arches and twists. “Is that good?”

Usnavi whimpers and bucks his hips, reaching up and backwards for Vanessa’s hands. When he finds them, he squeezes them as tight as he can.

“You too,” he says. “I want you too.” His voice is low and fragile, somehow, and it hits her, as it often does when he’s unfiltered like this, how much he trusts her. How much she trusts him. She kisses the top of his head to deal with the sudden rush of tenderness and slips her hands from his, stepping around the chair so she’s next to Ruben. Both of them are still fully clothed.

Vanessa kneels down and slots herself so her chest is pressed against Ruben’s back. She wraps her arms around his waist and cups him through his sweatpants, circling her hand just a little. He’s already semi-hard and he gasps when she touches him, losing his rhythm and letting Usnavi’s cock slide out of his mouth. Usnavi makes a high-pitched noise in the back of his throat at the loss, his erection now pressing and leaking against his stomach.

When Ruben’s got his forehead resting against Usnavi’s leg and starts grinding his hips against Vanessa’s hand, she whispers, “Can you do something for me?”

Ruben nods, shaky, and the friction of his hair against Usnavi’s skin makes Usnavi’s breath stutter and catch in his throat.

“Good,” she says. “I want you to trade places with me while I fuck him. And after he comes, it’s your turn. Do you want that?”

Ruben gets to his feet in answer, bracing himself with a hand on her shoulder for a moment before moving to stand just behind Usnavi. He reaches around and cups Usnavi’s jaw, guiding Usnavi’s lips to meet his. Usnavi’s already strung out and their kiss is messy and clumsy, both of them desperate and moaning into each other’s mouths.

Vanessa, not taking her eyes off them, stands up as well, unties the neck of her halter top and pulls it off over her head. Stepping out of her skirt and underwear and moving forward so her knees are almost pressed to Usnavi’s, she rolls her fingers back and forth over her clit, fucks herself on her hand until she’s slick. It doesn’t take long — she’s already wet from watching Ruben suck Usnavi off.

When she’s ready, she climbs onto Usnavi’s lap and straddles him, adjusts herself until she can sink down onto his cock. She rolls her hips against his and braces herself with her hands on his chest, falling forward just enough so that the head of his cock finds the exact right angle. She knows she won’t come from this alone but tonight, she doesn’t mind — the feeling of him inside her is a distinct kind of pleasure in its own right, sharp and strange like splitting in two. As Usnavi’s groans get louder, she speeds up the movement of her hips until she’s riding him as hard as she can, the length of him filling her until she’s breathless with it, until sensation overwhelms thought.

When Vanessa’s thighs start shaking with effort and the chair begins creaking in a way that threatens collapse, Usnavi comes with a low cry and Vanessa buries her face in his neck as he does, letting him wrap his arms around her and hold her to him. Ruben tips Usnavi’s head up for a kiss and Usnavi babbles through the end of his orgasm, whispers _te amo te amo te amo_ into Ruben’s mouth as his hands shake and tremble against Vanessa’s back. He goes still for a long moment afterwards, loose and unfocused, and then his face twists into a lazy smile.

“Fuck,” he says, with great feeling. “ _Fuck.”_

Vanessa nips playfully at his neck before letting him slide out of her and getting to her feet. “Your turn, Ruben,” she says.

Ruben’s staring at Usnavi with want written across his face and he gives his head a brief shake before he looks up at her. “In bed, though,” he says.

Coaxing Usnavi out of the distinctly weakened chair, Vanessa leads them both by the hand into the bedroom. Once she’s gotten a washcloth and cleaned her and Usnavi up, she waits for Usnavi to get under the covers and settle on his side to watch before she gestures to Ruben to lie back.

“What do you want, _querido_?” she asks him, and she’s surprised when Ruben reaches for the back of her neck and pulls her down to lie beside him. Ruben’s usually much kinkier than Usnavi when it comes to sex, much more likely to want to be tied up or made to stay still, and it’s a rare occurrence when he wants nothing more than to be held while he gets himself off. But, it’s a rare occurrence when he’s up for going to a club in the first place, so she supposes the evening is full of rarity.

“Is this okay?” he asks, reaching out for Usnavi on his other side. Vanessa nods, and Usnavi wriggles closer until he can tuck a strand of Ruben’s hair behind his ear. Vanessa nestles down into the crook of Ruben’s right arm and trails a hand across his chest as he takes himself into his hand. His breath speeds up, getting harsher and more ragged, and Vanessa whispers praise into the flush of his skin — _you’re so good, Ruben. You’re so good. Tan perfecto, tan hermoso, so good._

Ruben comes quietly, a long slow shudder and exhale of breath that she almost doesn’t notice, and he’s even more relaxed when he’s done, seemingly too exhausted to move. He lets her clean him up but he doesn’t seem able to open his eyes — he communicates with touch and gesture, with wordless gentle sounds. He falls asleep almost immediately, sprawled on his back with one arm under Vanessa and the other thrown across Usnavi’s waist, and Usnavi’s not far behind, curled onto his side with all the lines of his face smoothed away by sleep and sex. Vanessa considers giving herself an orgasm as well, but she’s tired, and the slow breathing of the bodies next to her is succeeding only in making her sleepier. It won’t exactly be a challenge, in the morning, to get one or both of them to eat her out in the shower.

As her eyes flutter closed, it occurs to her, as it does every time she’s the last to fall asleep, that she wants them like this always, boneless and untroubled, and she thinks her heart will crack from the knowledge that sometimes she can’t keep them safe from the world. Sometimes she can’t protect them from the unbelievable weight of living. But Ruben makes a snuffly sound in his sleep and pulls her closer, and Usnavi mutters something unintelligible in Spanish into Ruben’s shoulder, and Vanessa knows that just now, in the soft darkness of the bedroom and the ceaseless lights of New York, it’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Tumblr at [a-classic-fool](https://a-classic-fool.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
